


Knight Moves

by atamascolily



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Planet Yavin 4 (Star Wars), Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atamascolily/pseuds/atamascolily
Summary: Callista and Mara have the same questions if they only dared to ask them.
Relationships: Callista Ming/Luke Skywalker, Lando Calrissian/Mara Jade, Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 28





	Knight Moves

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, _Darksaber_! So much potential! So much OOC messiness! Certain scenes in this fic are remixed and/or recontextualized from Kevin J. Anderson's novel, with much of the dialogue verbatim from the original text as I struggle to make some sense of the complete mess than is official Legends canon.

_"Watch while the queen  
In one false move  
Turns herself into a pawn_

_Sleepy and shaken  
And watching while the blurry night  
Turns into a very clear dawn._

_Do you love any, do you love none,  
Do you love many, can you love one,  
Do you love me?"_

\--Suzanne Vega, "Knight Moves"

Callista can't sleep. Luke is curled on his side, his right arm pinned across her chest, trapping her on the bed, and she doesn't know how to move without waking him. She lies on her back and stares up at the dull gray stone of their quarters in the Great Temple for what feels like hours. The soft rasp of her lover's breath echoes in her ear as he sleeps on, oblivious to her predicament. 

Finally, she gives up any pretenses, and heaves away the limp hand holding her down. Luke stirs, but doesn't waken, and she eases free of the tangled sheets with relief. She can always say she had to use the 'fresher if he asks. 

But he doesn't. He doesn't even notice she's gone. 

She turns back for a moment to study Luke's face, pale and ethereal in the red-tinged planetshine streaming through the window: the shaggy blond hair, the curve of his cheekbones, the barest hint of stubble on his jaw. Luke awake is earnest and eager, yet manages a maturity that belies his true age. Asleep, his features soften and relax, exposing how young he is, a glimpse of what he might have been if he hadn't taken on so much so quickly. 

Their bodies are more or less the same age, but it's only when Luke sleeps that Callista feels the true weight of her years, invisible though they are on the surface. 

She shakes herself out of her reverie, and pulls a cloak over her nightclothes. Out of habit, she reaches for the belt with her lightsaber on the table by the door and wraps it arond her waist before venturing out into the hallway. 

She won't need the lightsaber where she's going, but it's a comforting presence, a familiar weight at her hip, right where she needs it to be. She runs her fingers over the bronze inlay on the handle, tracing the outlines of the long-necked _tsaelkes_ engraved there like a talisman. It's not much, but it's a little piece of her past, unexpectedly returned after three decades' absence. She's lost so much--her body, her powers, her purpose, her family--but the lightsaber is still with her after all this time, and she can't bear to be parted from it. 

The lowers levels of the Great Temple are a tangled maze of underground passageways, with occasional ferrocrete walls and patches from when the Rebel Alliance used this place as their base. Shielded from the sun, the stone lining the corridors is cool and clammy to the touch, home to phosphorescent mosses that make glow-lamps or other lighting unecessary except in the darkest passageways. She sees no one as she threads her way through towards the pyramid, cutting sharply to the left before the final ascent to the Grand Audience Chamber at the top.

A narrow passage off to the side takes her in between the stone blocks of the outer walls to a hidden balcony cut into the rock. She moves slowly but steadily, pausing here and there to watch her head or keep her robe from snagging. She's almost too tall for this route, and the only way through the final meter is on her hands and knees. 

She pulls herself into the open with relief, careful to keep one hand on the outer wall at all times to steady herself. There's no railing and the ground is a hundred meters or more below.

Luke wouldn't like her out here, so close to the edge, with nothing to catch her if she fell. That's one of the reasons she comes here. Luke means well, but he's always telling her what to do, even when he doesn't realize it. 

His commands are skillful and kindly meant. This is his place, his school, his rules and Callista respects that. But he never seems to turn off his teaching mode, even when they're alone, and the lessons never end. 

It would be one thing if he knew what was wrong with her. But he doesn't. She is--they are--achingly helpless. But he means well, so she swallows her resentment and walks away until her temper calms. 

And she keeps secrets. Like this one. 

Three moons are up tonight besides the massive bulk of the red gas giant dominating the lower half of the sky. The rainforest stretches out all the way to the horizon, without a single light in sight beyond the glow-rods marking the landing pads at the edge of the temple complex. Planetshine spills down across the landscape, bathing everything in its path the color of blood. 

Callista settles herself cross-legged on the stone, playing idly with the handle of her lightsaber as she studies the sky. Instead of focusing her attention on a single point, her mind drifts, softens into a diffused awareness of her surroundings. A troop of woolamanders hoots sleepily in the distance once, twice, then subsides amidst the staccato beat of night insects and chirping tree frogs. 

Once, she was a Jedi Knight, an adept of the all-encompassing Force that bound all life together. Even after she sacrified herself to save innocent lives, lost her body and everyone she'd ever known, the Force had been there for her, sustaining her for nearly three decades as a spirit aboard the crippled _Eye of Palpatine_ battlemoon. The Force was always her anchor, the one port that never failed her, the eye of calm in the center of the storm. 

The Force is still there, but she's the blind one now, unable to sense the energy pulsing through the universe. Now there is a gaping hole in her soul, a dull numbness coloring her entire existence. 

Once, she'd known who she was. Now, whatever Luke might say, it's not so clear. Powerless, she drifts at the mercy of the tide, washed up on shore like a beached _tsaelke_ or tangled strands of wander-kelp. 

Growing up on Chad, Callista helped her father send out drift-nets overnight while ships lay at anchor in the wide, shallow bays of the northern reaches. They'd haul up the results every morning, separating out the catch on the wide, open decks of the raft-ship that was their home. Living here at Luke's fledgling academy, with its orderly rhythmns, reminds her of those bygone days, only now _she's_ the bycatch, unwanted useless trash quickly thrown aside. And it hurts, no matter how much Luke denies it. 

Even worse are the vague suspicions in the back of her mind. Does he still love her? Such an absurd question. And yet--she can't help but wonder if he loves the _idea_ of Callista Masana more than the actual reality in bed with him. Does he wonder what happened to the blithe spirit he fell in love with? Does he tolerate her now in hopes that the old Callista will return?

The night sky holds no answers for her. She dozes off and on, hovering on the edge, but never quite tipping over into true sleep. The stars turn; the gas giant sets, and so does one of the moons. The faintest tip of light on the horizon's edge marks the coming dawn. 

And then the jungle whispers are drowned by the telltale whine of a starship engine. A light freighter or a yacht, by the sound--bigger than a fighter, but smaller than a destroyer or bulk cruiser by far. 

Someone is coming. Was there a scheduled delivery? A drop-off? A new student? Some urgent message from Coruscant? 

One thing for certain: Luke will want to know of this unexpected visitor. And she doesn't want him to wake and find her missing. 

Callista eases her way back through the passage into the Temple. Just before she reaches the tunnel's end, she glances back for one last look at the sky. 

***

Z-95 Headhunters are Mara Jade's preferred mode of transportation--simple, solid, single-seaters--but a highly modified yacht like the _Hunter's Luck_ isn't bad, despite its considerably larger size. She brings the craft out of hyperspace with a few practiced flicks of the control panel, frowning at the massive gas giant ringed by dozens of tiny moons through the viewports. 

The Yavin system. Home to what little remains of the original Death Star, as well as the first major Rebel victory. Though Mara hadn't known it at the time, the battle marked the beginning of the end of her career as Emperor's Hand--shockingly short, in retrospect. 

She steers the _Luck_ down through the faint clouds of debris from the explosion towards the moon housing Skywalker's Jedi praxeum. How strange to think that Skywalker brought the Empire down so easily here--and out of all the habitable planets in the galaxy, that he'd chosen to return here, to the site of his first and greatest military victory? Was that overconfidence on his part or just a coincidence? She'd never bothered to ask. 

For a moment, Mara wonders if ghosts of the Imperial forces who died here would appreciate the irony. She sniffs and decides they probably wouldn't. 

The comm crackled on the dashboard and Mara answered it automatically, expecting it to be Skywalker, or at the very least someone from his academy. Instead, she's treated to a striking headshot holo of Lando Calrissian, complete with a freshly waxed mustache and a rougish grin that telegraphed Very Big Plans that no doubt include her somehow. 

"You're radiant as always today, Mara," Calrissian says in his most charming drawl. "How are you doing?" 

Mara grits her teeth, trying--and failing--to be civil. "What do you want, Calrissian?" 

"I was thinking we could take a break from business for a bit and spend a few days together at the Favis Resort on Brentaal IV to celebrate our successful partnership. We can sit on the beach with a a glass of something cool and fruity in our hands, talk about something other than work for a change--" 

A private weekend at a resort. With her. Really. Would he ever take the hint and accept she wasn't interested?

Mara cuts straight to the chase, knowing from experience that polite refusals never work. "No thanks," she says bluntly. 

"Are you sure?" Calrissian presses. "I also got some tickets to the opera." 

There is _no_ reason to encourage this nonsense, even if Mara adores opera. "I _said_ , I'm not interested, Calrissian." 

Say whatever you will about this man, he accepts rejection better than most--mainly by pretending it never happened. "All right, perhaps some other time," he says. "But my offer still stands. _I'll_ be out there enjoying myself one way or another, and you're welcome to join me if you change your mind--"

She cuts off the comm before he can finish his sentence. Fucking Calrissian. Can't or won't take the hint, just like the rest of his infuriating New Republic friends, up to and including Skywalker. 

Mara sighs. It's her fault for getting the Smugglers' Alliance involved in the Kessel trade in the first place now that Calrissian is running the place. But the spice is consistently in demand and highly lucrative, and the minor personal annoyance is worth if it makes all the numbers add up in the accounts. Even with all his romantic tomfoolery, dealing with Calrissian is less of a headache than the Hutts and their machinations. 

That thought brings her back to why she's here in the Yavin system now, en route to deliver a message to Skywalker about the Hutts' latest scheme. She should have sent an encrypted message instead of wasting her time by meeting in person. But even the best encrypts can be broken, and it's far more secure to deliver her message in person. 

And besides... if she's honest, she _wants_ to see Skywalker again, just for a little bit. If only to witness firsthand how all this Jedi stuff has gone to his head.

***

Skywalker is teaching when she arrives--or what passes for teaching with him, anyway. In Mara's experience, this means he sits serenely on the sidelines while his frustrated students exhaust themselves at whatever pointless tasks he's set for them. Mara has no interest in those games, which is one reason she left the academy in the first place. 

Three hours later, as the sun rises high overhead, it occurs to her than perhaps this is supposed to be a lesson in patience for _her_ , Skywalker's way of getting back at her for leaving. She wouldn't put that level of passive-aggressive pettiness past him, though he'd deny it if she asked. 

Mara bears the delay as best she can, pacing across the open stone courtyard that passes for the Academy's landing field. Raucous flocks of garishly colorful avians soar overhead, weaving in between the lush green canopy and the towering ruins of the ancient Massassi temples that Skywalker has re-purposed into classrooms and living quarters. Nice enough in its own way, if you can tolerate the blasted humidity. 

There's a flicker on the edge of her awareness and Luke Skywalker steps into view, sliding the hood of his rust-brown robe back to his shoulders. "Mara Jade!" he calls with that obnoxious farm-boy energy and a cheerful wave. "What did I do to deserve the honor of your presence?"

Mara bares her teeth at him in a crude approximation of a smile. "You don't deserve it, Skywalker, but I came anyway."

"I'm honored." He takes her hand as if to lead her away, and she pulls back from the sudden contact. 

"Want to come inside?" he asks, ignoring her rudeness. 

She shakes her head. "No, let's go for a ride in my ship. I need to talk to you about something."

Luke accepts this demand with the typical holier-than-thou attitude he's cultivated since taking on formal students. "I thought you might. You don't usually come here just because you're bored." 

"I'm never bored, Skywalker," Mara corrects as she leads him onto the _Luck_. It's a bald-faced lie and they both know it; that's part of why she left his school in the first place. 

Skywalker slides into the co-pilot's seat without asking and for a second she thinks he's going to offer to 'help'. But he lets her work without interference, watching her every move with that focused intensity that is almost as bad. Mara takes off again as quickly as she can, pushing the _Luck_ 's engines to their limits. She throws her head back and laughs as the acceleration pushes back in her chair, and Skywalker drops the obnoxious serenity in favor of a shit-eating grin that marks him as a speed demon at heart. 

Once Mara had plotted to kill the man sitting beside her in the cockpit. Now he trusts her enough to walk into her ship without even informing his students of his whereabouts. Maybe he assumes he could take her in a fight if she tried to double-cross him, or maybe it doesn't occur to him that anything bad could happen at all. There's no way to know without asking, and she doesn't ask. 

"So," Skywalker says as Mara steadies the _Luck_ in low orbit as the yacht skims above the rainforest canopy. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Mara delivers her message, though it takes longer than she'd like because Skywalker won't stop asking questions. The short version is that the Smuggler's Alliance has proof of the notoriously independent Hutt crime syndicates banding together on several ostensibly respectable commercial corporations that all interlink to each other on the back end. 

"It's a front, obviously," Mara concludes. "We just can't figure out for what. Or why." 

"Why bring it to me, though?" Skywalker says. "I'm not officially affiliated with the New Republic anymore. What did you expect me to do?" 

Good question. _Something. Anything. Make it not my problem._ "I thought you might take it to your sister on Coruscant," she says instead. "As the Chief of State, she can probably think of something to head off trouble." 

Luke drums his fingers together. "You could have just gone there yourself. Isn't Yavin 4 a bit out of your way just to deliver a message?"

So much for hoping he wouldn't notice. Mara inhales sharply. "I wanted to do this quietly. The Smugglers' Alliance doesn't get on so well with the Hutts at the best of time, and our involvement shouldn’t be too obvious. Some of our customers--not to mention our members--are uncomfortable with how cozy we are with the New Republic, and if word got out, it might tip them over the edge." 

_Besides, no one in the New Republic--not even your sister-- listens to me the way she listens to you_ , she doesn't say. 

It's not that Organa Solo distrusts her--far from it. If it weren't for Mara, Skywalker's beloved niece and nephew would be light-years away, indoctrinated on some Imperial-controlled world as the prize of an ambitious warlord. But Organa Solo is always trying to get Mara entangled in New Republic politics, and is persistent in her advances as Calrissian. While Mara might have made her peace with the new government's existence, she has no desire whatsoever to be on their direct payroll.

"I see," Luke says, changing the subject to marginally safer ground. "How is Karrde? Still retired?"

"Rumors of his retirement were greatly exaggerated," she says. "Karrde doesn't exactly know how to take it easy. He's back at it and busier than ever, with his hands in more schemes than I can keep track of."

"What does he think the Hutts are up to?" 

"He's still looking into it. But he agrees with me that whatever it is, it's big, and the New Republic probably isn't going to like it." 

Silence falls in the cockpit, and Mara steers the _Luck_ back towards the academy landing pad to drop off her passenger.  
"The other reason I came in person," she continues uneasily, "is that occasionally--for some unknown reason--I almost look forward to seeing you, Skywalker. Not often, but there are times."

"And this is one of them?" Skywalker asks with raised eyebrow. 

"It was," she says crisply, mortified of how much she'd let slip and trying to play it as a joke. "I'd better be on my way before it  
wears off."

Skywalker laughs. "Why don't you stay a little longer? We've missed lunch, but you can have dinner with us in the mess hall like the old times. How long has it been since you had a real meal instead of stale ration bars?" 

"I _like_ ration bars," Mara says defensively. 

"Of course! But nothing wrong with a little variety, right?" he counters. 

"All right," she agrees, flushing at how quickly she caves to that pleading smile. Damn the man and her own inability to say no. "Just a quick meal, then I'm out of here."

***

What Mara intends to be quick catnap in her berth on the _Luck_ lasts for several hours, with barely enough time for a quick shower before dinner. The mess hall is packed with people by the time she arrives, but Skywalker is nowhere to be found. 

Also conspicuous in his absence is one Kyp Durron, Jedi wunderkind and teenage war criminal. This is good news for all concerned, Mara thinks idly as she stands in line to fill her tray with a bright orange stew and some sort of crispy flatbread. Skywalker would be annoyed if she decked his prize trainee in public, and the resulting bloodshed would likely put the other students off their food.

Skywalker's cult has grown significantly since Mara abandoned her training; the mess hall is a sea of unfamiliar faces and all of the tables are occupied. Some of the students she recognizes--the silver-haired musician Tionne; Dorsk Whats-His-Name, the clone--but most are strangers to her. 

Dorsk and Tionne wave as she passes their table, but there's no empty seats, so Mara doesn't stop. The new students nod politely, following her with their eyes, but none of them welcome her over. 

_Where the hell is Skywalker?_ Mara thinks with growing irritation. _Isn't he supposed to be in charge here? Or at least hungry?_

The only free chairs are in the back of the room, on either side of a human woman picking at her tray of spiced nerf stew and sauteed greens. No one else is at the table, as if this woman guards her solitude as fiercely as Mara guards her own. 

Her regulation buzzcut fans out in a poofy cloud around her head hair, the blonde tips in striking contrast to the darker brown roots. Even sitting down, her height and lankiness put her head and shoulders over the other women in the room, and she carries herself with the the coltish awkwardness of adolescence, of someone rapidly outgrowing their body. 

Dr. Cray Mingla had arrived at the academy shortly after Mara's precipitous departure and their paths had never crossed. It didn't matter, because the woman at the table wasn't Mingla, but another woman's spirit possessing Mingla's body. Skywalker had managed to explain _that_ much back on Belsavis before passing out in Cray--now Callista's--arms. 

Shavvit. 

What the hell, she thinks. Now that she's gotten this far, she might as well face this head on instead of slinking away like a coward. Mara tightens her grip on her tray as she approaches the table and clears her throat. "Hey, mind if I sit here?" 

Mara is cheered by the fact that Callista isn't any happier to see her. There's a barely perceptible nod, just a beat past politness, and no smile. Good. 

She settles herself into the open chair beside Callista, and samples the stew. "Better than packaged rations, I suppose, but I can tell you don’t have a gourmet droid working here," she says, delivering the verdict aloud. 

Callista remains silent, not that Mara expects a reply to that inane observation. Even if Mara didn't know what she does about this woman, there's something deeply unsettling about her, as if she doesn't quite fit in her own body. Every movement is precise and deliberate--even automatic ones like blinking and breathing--as if she's a puppeteer pulling the strings of a particularly complex marionette. Mara doesn't blame the other students for keeping a wide berth.

She forges ahead, babbling to cover her discomfiture. "I don't know if we were ever formally introduced back at Belsavis, but I picked you and Skywalker up in my ship. I'm Mara Jade." 

"Nice to put a name to a familiar face," Callista replies, carefully neutral. Her voice is low and throaty, a warm rich alto. "Luke's told me a lot about you."

"So, you're Skywalker's new lady?" Mara keeps her expression carefully blank, her tone polite. She casually mops up her stew with the flatbread, though she's dying inside to know just what Skywalker told this woman about her. 

Callista raises an eyebrow. "Yes I am," she agrees. "I also heard hints that you might have been interested in Luke yourself at one time."

The stew does _not_ agree with her stomach--too much redroot. Mara swallows her mouthful, regrets it instantly, but somehow manages to choke it down. 

"Who told you I was ever interested in Luke Skywalker?" she gasps when she's sufficiently recovered from her coughing fit to speak. "When I first met him, the thing I wanted most in the universe was to kill him. I thought that way for a long time..." Mara shrugs. "Sometimes it still seems like a good idea to me. Not a great basis for a long-term relationship, you think?"

"No, I suppose not," Callista says. 

The words hang in the air between them before she goes in for the kill: "Aren't you with Lando Calrissian these days? I heard something about you two being a hot item."

For a resident of an obscure sect in the middle of nowhere, Callista is awfully well-informed about current gossip. Then again, that blabbermouth Calrissian had probably bragged about his supposed "conquest" to half the galaxy by now. 

"Calrissian? You've got to be kidding!" Mara snaps, more annoyed than she wants to admit by Callista's casual assumption. "We're still good business partners in a _very_ profitable operation at the spice mines of Kessel right now--but I think Calrissian's more interested in _chasing_ me than in _winning_ me... which is fine as far as I’m concerned."

She wipes the corners of her mouth, her appetite evaporating. The food is terrible, this conversation is pointless, and Skywalker isn't even here. 

Fuck him for standing her up like this. Fuck _her_ for assuming he cared. Fuck his little blonde plaything for her perfect features and perfect Jedi calm. As far as Mara is concerned, those two deserve each other. 

Mara stands up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her flight suit before grabbing her tray more roughly than necessary. The uneaten stew sloshes over the side of the bowl and drips down onto the tray. 

"Well, good to meet you," she lies. "Give Skywalker my regards. I've got to be heading out. Just stopped by to drop off a message, and now it's back to business as usual."

Mara turns and stalks away with what dignity she can muster, without so much as a nod of acknowledgment to the other Jedi trainees. The sooner she's on the _Hunter's Luck_ and out of this miserable system, the better. 

***

Mara half-expects Skywalker to be waiting for her at the landing pad, but apparently, his prescience doesn't extend to seeing her off. She slams down on the controls with more force than strictly necessary, but the _Luck_ handles beautifully, launching her into the sky and out of the atmosphere in moments. 

While the navcomputer calculates the next jump, Mara dials the number Calrissian left for her, and sets the comm for two-way holos. He picks up her message on the first ring, clapping his hands in delight as he registers her face. 

"Mara Jade! What an unexpected pleasure!"

Mara smiles--the one with the faintest hint of vulnerability shyness, the kind that opens doors and wins friends. "You know, I was really much too hasty earlier," she says. "I thought about your generous offer, and I--want to take you up on it. I think a little downtime is just the thing I need to clear my head." 

"Excellent!" Calrissian is too pleased to question his luck or her motives. Maybe he doesn't care what's in her heart if he can get to what's between her legs. "I'll send you the coordinates right away and we can arrange our rendezvous." 

"See you there," Mara says. She maintains her simpering smile through pure will until the call is over before she relaxes her expression, tapping thoughtfully at the console as she ponders what she's just done. 

If everyone thinks she's already dating Calrissian, might as well give them something to talk about. Maybe that would be enough to extinguish any rumors that she was pining after Skywalker.

Yavin IV floats below her, green and tranquil in the void of space. The sight of it makes Mara unaccountably angry--at this whole wretched system, at herself for coming back to this dead-end system in the first place, at Skywalker and his uncanny girlfriend. 

"I don't need you," she says--to Skywalker? To herself? To whatever ghosts still linger in this system? Does it even matter?  
She yanks down on the hyperdrive lever, and the _Hunter's Luck_ zips away. Whatever goes on at the academy is no longer Mara's problem. 

Instead, Mara will dress for a formal dinner and drink expensive wine with Calrissian in an exclusive restaurant before the opera. They will laugh and talk about music and dancing, culture and art--anything but Luke Skywalker. 

He hadn't even bothered to say good-bye to her this time.

Mara's stomach lurches in dismay--something in that miserable excuse for a stew _really_ doesn't agree with her. She manages to make it to the 'fresher just in time, retching into the sink. 

"This is what I get for being sentimental," she says when the spasms have subsided, wiping her jaw with a towel. 

Rest assured, she won't make that mistake again. 

***

Luke comes to dinner late, babbling apologies as he settles in beside Callista with a heaping tray of his own. He is pleased to learn that Mara Jade made an appearance, and crestfallen to learn he missed her departure by minutes--though he quickly recovers his usual good cheer by loudly proclaiming she'd be back before they knew it. 

"I was hoping you'd be friends," he admits in between bites of stew. "I know you've been... isolated here. I thought maybe--" 

"I don't think she's interested in friendship," Callista says as diplomatically as she can. This late in the evening, most of the students have departed, and the fact that she and Luke are sitting alone is much less obvious than before, but she isn't surprised he's noticed how much she keeps to herself--and how much the other students avoid her. 

She's touched by Luke's concern, but the fact that he considers Mara Jade to be a suitable match for her is laughably naive, given the other woman's hostility to Callista's existence. 

Luke laughs when she explains that to him--not unkindly, but with genuine amusement. "Give it time," he says, with that sunny, unfailing optimism. "You two have so much in common. I think you'd really like her once you get to know her--" 

Callista glances up sharply at him, but his bright blue eyes are shining with sincere belief, with no ulterior motive she can detect. She sighs and lets it go. 

Luke devours two bowls of stew, plus the sauteed greens Callista has been pushing around on her plate for the last fifteen minutes. After dinner, they take an hour-long soak in the hot springs and make love twice before bed. Luke falls asleep almost instantly, but Callista makes herself wait for half an hour before sneaking out to her usual hiding place on the temple roof. 

Callista can no longer touch the Force, but she wasn't born yesterday; she was a diplomat long enough to catch glancing microexpression and the unspoken language of posture and tone. Whatever business had brought Mara Jade here hadn't worked out, that much was clear. 

Did Luke know Mara Jade was in love with him? Callista didn't think so. She doubts he would so brazenly push the two of them together as friends if he did. Subtlety is not Luke's strong suit. 

Had there been something once between Luke and Mara? Luke denies it, but Mara's evasive answers are more difficult to decipher. But given that Mara's departure from the academy was months if not years before Callista tumbled precipitously into Luke's life, whatever had driven them apart wasn't something Callista was responsible for. 

Even so, that didn't make Mara's resentment any easier to bear.

No doubt Luke felt the same shining pure devotion for Mara he extended towards the entire world. But by that same token, she thought with a grimace, he might not feel anything for Callista herself beyond that same obligation and duty, mistaking the rush of lust for a deeper commitment.

Not a pleasant thought. 

"Do you love me, Luke?" she says aloud, staring up at the sky as the first stars became visible in the gathering dark, knowing that he might not know the answer even if she were to ask. 

_And,_ her traitorous mind continues with a far more disturbing question, one she could answer if she wanted to, _do I love you?_

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a songfic based on "Knight Moves" by Suzanne Vega (source of the title and epigraph) for evilmouse's songfic challenge, but I decided not to include the fully lyrics in the text per A03's TOS. That said, if you listen to the song, you'll definitely notice the parallels--it's the song that best encapsulates the tangled Luke/Mara/Callista dynamic for me.


End file.
